


Proper Men

by gentlegrain



Category: IT Crowd
Genre: M/M, Post-Finale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-07 09:59:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3170702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gentlegrain/pseuds/gentlegrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something about the whole bizarre affair didn’t add up. The cogwheels were starting to turn inside Jen's head. "So, you showed up at Moss’ blind date dressed in drag..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm neither British nor a native English speaker. Hope that isn't painfully obvious.

"You don’t like it?"

"Sorry?"

Roy was eyeing him over the back of the sofa with narrowed eyes. "The cake. You don’t like it?"

What a weird thing to ask, seeing as they both knew it was his favourite kind. Roy bought him one every year and spelled out his new age in Smarties on top. "There’s nothing wrong with the cake." Out of politeness, he made a show of eating a spoonful.

Roy, in turn, made a show of raising his empty plate, which he’d lovingly licked relatively clean just moments ago. "But you’re not eating it."

"I’m going to. Don't rush me, alright?"

Roy turned back around on the sofa and helped himself to a generous third slice. Moss looked down on his. The couple of mouthfuls he’d eaten had rendered it asymmetric, but generally it was basically untouched. He thought it was a little too on the nose, and gave it a bit of a stab with his spoon. It always drove Mum up the wall to see him play with his food like that, and he took secret pleasure in doing so.

With his mouth full of cake and hands shovelling in even more, Roy sat back down on the green sofa. "You wanna talk about it?"

"The cake?"

"Or whatever else is bothering you."

"Well, as you know, my birthday is this weekend."

Roy nodded. "Hence the cake."

"But what you may not know, Roy, is that despite my otherwise fulfilling life, I haven’t had a lot of luck in my personal life. It may stun you to learn that I’ve never even had a single successful date."

He considered this. "No, that sounds about right."

"My birthday feels like a grim reminder of the realities of statistics - those realities being that I’m never going to have a meaningful relationship, never mind marrying with two kids."

Jen walked in just then, taking off her coat. "Who’s married with two kids?"

"Me, in a utopian alternate reality."

"I’m surprised to hear you say that. I didn’t know you wanted kids."

Moss shrugged. "I don’t, but a family of four _is_ ideal for board games and hotseat multiplayer. I’d settle for co-op, really, but who am I kidding?"

Roy frowned in that way that made him look old and out of his depth. Moss was not a fan of that expression. Their job was its usual cause, but every once in a while Moss got to be the one who reinforced Roy’s all-encompassing disappointment in life. Roy asked, "Did Richmond drop by again?"

Jen chortled. Chortled! At his very real plight! "I don’t think it’s that. This sounds more like a regular old mid-life crisis to me."

"I’m having a _wasted_ -life crisis, Jen. Please do not make light of it."

He pushed his plate away. He was done deluding himself that there was anything festive about getting old alone.

Jen folded her coat over her arm and leaned on the doorway to her office. "You’ve never really had a single successful date?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

Before Moss could say a thing, Roy interjected: "No, he’s having selective amnesia so that he can spend his birthday in pretend misery!"

"There’s no need for that," Jen muttered. "But Moss, you had a few online dating profiles, didn’t you? Nothing ever came of that?"

"Never got any replies." For whatever reason. Who truly knew what sort of superhuman features and qualities were expected of people one would agree to have a relationship with?

Roy puffed out his cheeks thoughtfully. Something seemed to occur to him. "Oh! What about the girl at that private club you went to? Ivana, right?"

Ah, sweet Ivana. What a wild evening they’d had. The memory of it, and her, was almost enough to sustain a man till the end of his days. Moss’ mind was filled with an image so delicious, he could almost feast on it and go to bed without dinner. Alas! He shook his head.

Roy said, "But you did have sex with her, right?"

"I’m not certain. In hindsight, it’s possible she just thought I was choking."

Roy and Jen squinted at him like they were abruptly having trouble seeing. There was a moment’s silence that could have been described as awkward.

"Oh! Oh!" Jen suddenly grinned in excitement. "What about Roy’s mother?"

"She was _not_ my mum," Roy protested immediately.

"I don’t think anyone would count that as a successful date," Moss said sullenly, "except maybe for Roy, since he slept with her."

Jen’s eyes bugged out. Moss had always found it was a bit scary. "He did what?"

"Oh, don’t bother getting on your high horse! I was really drunk, I already apologised when it happened, _years ago_ , and _you_ threw up all over Moss that night." It was true enough; there hadn’t really been any verbal apology, but Roy had paid his dues in the form of a suspiciously spontaneous gift of these D &D figurines Moss had been admiring online. And so they were square - some of the figurines, too, but mostly the two of them. Besides, it was hard to hold a grudge when the offender was more upset about what they’d done than you were. Imagine waking up next to your own mother! Her doppelgänger, that is. In a context implying sexual contact!

"It’s not like you to worry about stuff like this, Moss," Jen said finally, with a note of resignation. She hung her coat on the rack and set her hands on her hips. "You know, I wouldn’t worry about it too much. I mean, even Roy’s had girlfriends. He’s living proof that there’s _nothing_ someone out there won’t stoop to these days." At this, Roy gave her the stink eye. "And I know for a fact that there are lots of geeky girls out there you could meet, women who share your passion in..." At a loss for words, she made a sweeping gesture towards all the posters and gadgets decorating their base of operations. "... At least _some_ of whatever all this is."

Moss snorted. "Ha! Jen, please. Nerds have standards too, and even in terms of geek hierarchy, I rank _pret-ty_ low."

"Hey, at least you haven’t had Anonymous launch a smear campaign against you," Roy said. "You know what a pain it is to find a woman _hasn’t_ heard of Small Person Racist?"

Jen crossed her arms. "But you got laid last week. You wouldn’t shut up about it."

"Well, yeah - but I’ve had to start shaving." Roy rubbed his smooth chin, and seemed like he might add more, but thought better of it when Jen gave him a look utterly devoid of any pity, and indeed filled with the opposite of it.

Jen sat down on the armchair, leaned back, and steepled her fingers. Moss seriously doubted she’d ever shake all of those pretentious mannerisms she’d acquired during their temporary employment as the figurative Cerberus - the three-headed guardian - of Reynholm Industries. She said, "I have an idea - and both of you hear me out, okay. Moss, how would you feel about being set up on a blind date?"

 

* * *

 

Uneasy, to be honest, especially considering it was by Roy - but beggars couldn’t be choosers, now, could they? Except they totally could, assuming they were prepared to live in intense misery for the rest of their very short lives. Although Roy had solemnly sworn to not set him up with any of his exes, Moss did have to wonder what sort of woman it was that Roy would want to befriend but not pursue. Who was this mystery woman, agreeing to one awful man’s blind date arrangement with another?

Moss was startled out of fiddling with his smartphone by the screech of the chair next to him. A tall figure sat down opposite him almost sheepishly and heaved a heavy sigh. She spread her hands as if to say: _Well, here I am._

"I just... I don’t even have the words." She huffed. "I’m really sorry about this. I meant to text you and let you know so you wouldn’t have to keep waiting for nothing, but I ran out of battery. I understand if you’re angry with me."

The old friend from Ireland that Roy had described to him. Not in any great detail, mind you. The only description Roy had given him about her was that she looked like _a normal person, don’t worry about it! Have a little faith!_ Moss could now come up with a description of his own. A harsher critic might have said that her make-up was a little too thick, her dress a little too flashy, her build a bit too gangly... Or something along those lines. Moss merely made a mental note of the black dress, blue eyes, long legs, and brown hair falling over her shoulders just short of her waist. Between difficulties with eye contact, mild prosopagnosia, and low standards, as far as Moss was concerned, she was flawless.

"Oh, I don’t mind," he said, and desperately longed after an alternate reality where Roy hadn’t convinced him to leave his ear spray at home. He pointed at his own phone on the table between them. "I had the Internet to keep me company."

She adjusted her scarf and sighed. "God, you even wore a suit and everything. I swear I’ll make it up to you."

Good grief, this was by far the humblest woman Moss had ever met. She’d been 42 minutes and 9 seconds late to their date, sure, but it wasn’t like she’d gone and personally gotten Firefly cancelled or anything. "There’s nothing to apologise for. I’m just pleased you’re here, really. Don’t worry about it."

She rested her head on her arms and gave a non-committal _hmm_. She seemed dissatisfied with the absolution she’d just been offered.

A thought occurred to Moss. He chuckled. "And unless you’ve got a DeLorean parked round the corner, there’s not much that can be done about it now!"

At last, something akin to a smile turned up one corner of the woman’s lips. "Fat lot of good that’d do since I don’t have a licence. I think I saw a Tardis on the way here, though?"

"You know, _vis-à-vis_ time travel, I think we’ll manage just fine without ," he said. This made her actually, honest-to-God, cross his heart and hope to die: _snigger_. Was it really that easy, entertaining ladies? Moss snuck a glance at her delicately painted fingernails. If not precisely, then _very_ close to #FF0000. Her lips were the same colour.

Although Moss tried to be responsible and not abuse the mysterious power of wearin women’s slacks in his everyday life - especially so now that Douglas was done laying low and the IT department of Reynholm Industries was back in the basement - this particular blind date was one of the few occasions that he’d deemed important enough to be an exception to the rule. As the silence between the two of them stretched on, Moss became acutely aware that there was no way he could have survived the date without his special trousers on.

"You look lovely," he said, just to say _something_.

She shook her head. "I know, I know, this silly dress... And the bloody heels! Not the sort of get-up I want to be seen traipsing around in. Seriously, don’t ask."

It must’ve been a lady thing, because there was no way any man Moss had ever met would refer to her appearance as _silly_. The overall impression was somewhere between a B-list celebrity on her way to a cocktail party, and one of those ambiguous convention attendees whose eccentric style makes you wonder if they’re actually just cosplaying a fictional character you’re not personally familiar with.

Regardless of her reasoning, it was not a very successful opener. Might as well try another one.

He cleared his throat. "Did you have anything in mind for tonight, or..?"

She reached over the table to straighten out his tie. "Oh, I don’t know. Somewhere out of sight. You wanna get dinner, maybe catch a movie?"

"Yes, please, thank you very much..."

  
"...And the soundtrack! Just amazing stuff! Anyone who isn’t Marvel should just stop making superhero movies. DC is kidding themselves if they think their Justice League stuff is ever going to compare."

Moss had been immensely relieved to find they had similar concepts about what _dinner and a movie_ should entail: pizza, a superhero film, and pleasant conversation throughout (but never during dialogue, as Moss was pleased to find out). It looked like it’d been raining while they were indoors; the street was glistening under the streetlights’ yellowish gleam, with the faintest hint of a puddle here and there.

"Frankly, it could have used a bit more dialogue," he admitted.

She laughed. "But it’s a Marvel movie! We watch them for the visually impressive action and witty Whedon one-liners, not for the conversation."

“Still…”

They stopped when they met the edge of the sidewalk.

Moss cast his eyes downwards in restless anticipation. Of what? What could possibly happen? She’d go home and they’d never meet again. Best to just savour the moment.

He looked up when she elbowed him lightly. "Hey. You wanna do anything tomorrow? Pub, arcade, Laser Quest, board games, Tolkien marathon..?"

Impossible. Flipping _impossible_.

"Really?"

She scratched the back of her head and smiled. "Why not? Day off and everything.”

Perhaps he should have felt angry or deceived that he’d spent 40 years of his life out of the dating scene only to discover it could be this effortless and pleasant, but the only emotion he could distinguish in his internal storm was one of joy. "I’d be delighted!"

"I’ll get back to you," she said, and turned to leave.

Emboldened by leftover adrenaline from the movie, his newfound potential for romance, and the Trousers of Confidence +4, Moss cleared his throat audibly. "Before you go... Might I enquire what your official stance is on the subject of kissing on a first date?"

For a moment, she seemed to hesitate. "Well, it depends..."

"But ideally?"

She gave a sly grin. "Ideally, there’d be a lot of it."

That was a green light, wasn’t it? The almost sacred stillness that so often falls upon empty streets at night; the tension between two people who have spent a fun evening together and maybe fallen a little bit in love; that quintessential make-or-break moment where his choice of manoeuvre would either define him as relationship-worthy (as seen in hundreds of works of fiction), or comprehensively embody the reason he’d never had (and probably never _would_ have) a proper date.

Speak now, or forever hold your peace...

Moss walked up to her briskly, took her by the hands, rose up on his toes, and planted what he hoped was a gentle kiss on her lips.

When he leaned back away from her and opened his eyes, he saw that hers were still closed. In fact, she stood still like a statue. Moss was briefly reminded of the almost demented bouts of daydreaming that Richmond was so prone to.

While trying not to freak out over his lovely date freaking out, Moss received a text message from his mother. He knew the sender without checking because of the personalised text alert he’d set for her: the little ditty you’d hear in the first Super Mario game upon death. No doubt she was anxious to know what he was doing out so late.

His date opened her eyes after what must have been either millennia or half a minute later.

Moss clasped his hands together behind his back. "I’m sorry. I misread the situation. Are you... in pain, or anything..?"  
"Nope!" she squeaked. "No-no! No, no. No, that’s definitely what should happen! On dates. Between dating people, who are dating, on dates. And I did say... Mmm! It’s just that I’m not used to, you know, I’m not used to... being kissed, on dates, by guys... um, whose names I don’t know. Because today is the first time ever that we’ve ever met, ever."

Moss let out a breath he’d been fully and painfully aware of holding for longer than comfortable. "Ah, right! Of course! I feel like a complete nincompoop. We haven’t been properly introduced yet! What is your name?"

She stared at him. "M... Marie." It came out like there was something about the physical act of speaking the name that she found difficult. First name only? Moss decided to follow her example. Probably too early to bring up nickname preferences anyway.

"Maurice," he said.

"Maurice," she repeated.

"Thank you, Marie, for the lovely date. I’ll see you tomorrow?"


	2. Chapter 2

Jen wouldn’t have minded waking up at in the middle of the night so much if it hadn’t been to some idiot apparently trying to bring her doorbell to orgasm for minutes on end. As dictated by Murphy’s law, by the time she’d found her dressing gown, the noise finally stopped. Nothing she could see on the other side of the fisheye lens, either. Probably some passing drunkard – wasn’t unheard of – she’d just check the time on her phone and go back to sleep.

Jen irritably squinted at the unreasonably bright light of her tiny smartphone. The numbers on the screen informed her that it was almost exactly 3 AM, but more importantly, there was a big number 19 on the screen.

She might’ve left the messages unread and gone straight back to sleep if that wasn’t approximately the amount of messages she received in an entire week.

One of them was from Peter wishing her a good night just minutes after she’d fallen asleep, and another was from Fran about a dinner party next week, but the other seventeen had the same sender:

 

> [9:17 PM]  Hey Jen, is it okay if I drop by for a bit? I have this issue that I need to talk about with someone  
>  [9:22 PM]  If you have time that is…  
>  [9:24 PM]  Don’t worry, I’m not gonna reveal I have cancer or anything dramatic like that, there’s just this thing that I’d like your advice on  
>  [9:45 PM]  I know it’s late and Saturdays are your no-Moss-and-Roy-time, but there’s this really complicated situation going on that I haven’t told anyone about and it’s messing with my head and I don’t know what to do  
>  [10:32 PM]  Please Jen i wouldn’t bother you otherwise but youre the only person i know whos even remotely qualified to comment and it’s really important to me.  
>  [11:34 PM]  I swear i didn  
>  [11:35 PM]  T plan for any of this to happen so please just get back 2 me ok??  
>  [00:42 AM]  I SHAVED MY LEGS JEN  
>  [00:42 AM]  WHST AN I GOIGN TODO  
>  [00:43 AM]  STOP IGNOIRNG ME,  
>  [00:59 AM]  Hwen he finds out hes bever coign to speeak to me agai thisis killign me  
>  [01:20 AM]  Feck it im comin over theees no way your asleepbat this hour  
>  [02:54 AM]  Open up its just me  
>  [02:55 AM]  Cmon a deaf sloth wouldnt have slept througj that  
>  [02:56 AM]  How much do youb hate me to make me lie onyour doorstep at 3am it is rly cold out here  
>  [02:57 AM]  What if my fingers freeeze and fall of  
>  [02:58 AM]  Youd seem real selfish then wouldnt you

While she was reading, she received one more message:

 

> [03:00 AM]  What if i did have cancer.

Also, four missed calls, all made within the hour, also from Roy.

Jen unlocked the door and said, "You don’t have cancer. Get in."

Roy crawled inside and straight into the bathroom on his left. While he was making retching sounds, Jen went to the kitchen and put the kettle on.

He crawled out just when the tea was ready.

"Great timing," she said, setting two steaming mugs on the table. "Aside from the whole 3 AM thing. What could you possibly need at this hour?”

"I need you to listen." Roy grasped the table by a leg, pulled himself vaguely upwards, and struggled to make it onto a chair. After he’d managed to complete the perplexing task of sitting down, he wrapped his hands around the hot tea. "First off, you have to promise that you’re not going to yell at me."

For some reason, Jen was reminded of that week back when Roy had gotten dumped by Eliza, just before all the drinking and crying and photoshopping had started. If there ever was a time to channel her inner therapist, it was now.

"This is a judgment-free zone, Roy, a safe space."

"No, that’s bollocks. You have to say it. Say you won’t yell."

She sighed. "Of course I won’t yell." What did he take her for? That was the defining difference between them, really. She actually knew how to handle emotional situations with care.

Roy inhaled and exhaled in that slow and intensely meticulous manner that all people adopt when they’ve had a few too many. "You know Marie, Moss’ girlfriend?"

"I know _of_ her. You said you two were friends at university, and you never put the moves on her because she didn’t like Star Wars."

"Hey, it’s _extremely_ inaccurate to say that she didn’t like Star Wars. She _hated_ Star Wars!" Roy threw his hands in the air. "With a passion! What kind of a freak hates _Star Wars_?!"

Jen shrugged. "I didn’t much care for it myself. Bit childish, wasn’t it?"

"Well, there you go. Completely unnatural! Look, I am a man of principles. And there are certain deal-breakers I just morally can’t stomach—"

A chilling thought suddenly had Jen in its grasp. "You realise if this story ends with you sleeping with her, I’m going to have to knee you in the balls on Moss’ behalf?"

Roy did his best to glare at her with his unfocused, bloodshot eyes. "Geez! No! It’s nothing like that. Why do you always have to assume the worst of me? What did I ever do to you, huh?" Jen opened her mouth, and he quickly added: "This week?"

"Alright, I’m sorry," Jen relented. She sipped on her tea. "Go on."

"I don’t think I want to anymore." He closed his eyes and turned up his nose petulantly. While Jen stared in disbelief at this classic display of drunk Roy, his head started to tilt to the right, very, very slowly.

It occurred to Jen that she might as well reread the texts from Roy to see if there was a hint as to where this was going. Browsing through them, it seemed like Roy had done something awful, someone was going to be very angry, and also... Huh.

"You shaved your legs?"

Roy snapped upright. "What? What?"

"You shaved your legs," Jen repeated.

He snorted. "What? No, I didn’t. Why would you say something like that?"

"Well, you told me that in a text."

He rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand. "I texted you? When?"

Jen showed him the texts.

He read through them with his heavy-lidded eyes. His expression slowly became one of pure, unadulterated horror. "I... I shaved my legs?"

Whatever this conversation was about, surely this was the exact wrong place, time, way, _and_ state to have it. Jen sighed. "Yes, we’ve established that now."

Roy bent over and pulled up one trouser leg, then another one. Yep, there were his shins, definitely smoother than Jen’s were at that moment.

At this sight, he buried his face in his palms and wailed. "Oh, I shaved my legs! Oh! I don’t know what I’m doing, Jen, I’m in too deep!"

"Come on, then." Jen stood up and went over to give a friendly sort of pat on Roy’s back. "Something you did, something about Marie, you bit off more than you can chew and you’re here for my advice. I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on."

Roy did the ridiculously exaggerated breath thing again. He could be so dramatic sometimes.

Looking away, he said, "You remember the bet we had three months ago?"

"Which one?”

It was't that Jen wasn't relieved to be back in the basement after Douglas’ return. But they’d all just forgotten how quiet it could be. To stave off the boredom, she and Roy had started a series of bets that had admittedly gone a little overboard. At least she’d won the majority of them.

"The last one. About getting Douglas to give me a ride on his helicopter?" He ran a hand through his hair. "I know you don’t believe I won the bet—"

"You _didn’t_ win the bet. Belief doesn’t factor into it." There was no need to remind Jen. That particular bet had been the subject of many a quarrel between them. Not only had the bastard not paid up, he’d demanded she pay him. The nerve!

"But you saw the video I recorded from the flight!"

"But you could’ve just photoshopped it!"

"You can’t ‘photoshop’ a video, Jen! That’s not a thing!"

Jen rolled her eyes. At this point, she usually pointed out that she had no possible way of knowing if that was true, and that Roy had a long history of lying to her about technology for just the sort of pranks the controversial Helicopter Clips probably were made for – all arguments she’d brought up before, and they never led anywhere. Roy would always claim it was her own fault for not knowing anything about computers even after a decade in IT, she’d point out that there was no need to learn because that wasn’t what she was _there for_ , Roy would argue that she was secretly a time-traveling cavewoman, and from there onwards the quarrels never had anything to do with the original subject.

"Anyway," Roy said, "after the flight _on Douglas’ helicopter_..."

"Yeah, yeah."

"I’m on my way home, right, when I get a text from Marie. She’s saying something’s come up, her mother’s had some kind of seizure, blah, blah, blah, she’s asking me to let Moss know she’s not coming. I try calling Moss, but before he can pick up, I run out of battery, 'cause I used it up, _recording the flight_." Roy fished his smartphone out of his jacket and continued: "I figure it’s cruel to make him wait, you know? So I go over and tell him that I’m really sorry that he had to wait, I start to explain the situation, and he just says... He says that I shouldn’t worry about it. I mean, there he is, dressed up in his best, alone in a restaurant on his birthday, stood up by his date, and _he’s_ reassuring _me_. Saying he’s just happy to see me."

That was strange. Moss himself had reported to Jen that the date went really well, and it wasn’t like him to lie (convincingly, that is). But now that she thought about it, wasn’t that really, well... Unlikely? Not to be mean, but really, now. Like, honestly.

Roy went on: "I felt sorry for him, so I asked if he wanted to hang out, and we had this perfectly normal night out – you know, pizza, cinema, conversation? After the movie, we were just chatting outside, I asked him if he wanted to hang out the next day, and all of a sudden..." Roy swallowed audibly once, twice. "He, um, k... Kissed me, and thanked me. For the _lovely date_. His words, not mine."

There were too many questions in Jen’s mind, all fighting for the right to be vocalised first. It felt a lot like when Moss had tried to explain port forwarding to her. “My... My brain hurts. Hold on, sorry, I... What?”

Roy slid over his phone over the table with all the sobriety of a death row convict. "Before you say anything, there’s one more clip from the helicopter that I didn’t show you."

He hit play.

The clip was a mere nine seconds. Like with the others, all speech was drowned out by the powerful noise you’d expect from a helicopter in flight. What set this clip apart from the ones Jen had seen was the person shooting the video dropping the phone right at the beginning. Clumsy as he was, Roy wouldn’t treat his gadgets so carelessly, so obviously it was filmed by someone else than him – by process of elimination, Douglas, then. The clip showed a couple of seconds of the helicopter’s floor and Douglas’ shoes until the phone was lifted. The lens soon aimed at the person who was sitting opposite from him: a woman in a black dress. The woman made an attempt to grab the phone; she seemed nervous, said something that was lost in the noise. Douglas’ hand appeared from behind the camera to give her a thumbs-up. The camera zoomed into the thumb, the woman’s face, and finally her breasts. The video then cut off.

Not that any more was necessary. Despite the wig, make-up, dress, fake tits, and any lack of sense to be made in what she’d just watched, Jen had immediately recognised Roy’s face from the close-up.

In a wordless sense of wonder, Jen got up, fetched her wallet, and slid two fifty pound notes onto the kitchen table. When Roy made to take them, she slammed her hand over them. Roy nearly fell off his chair in alarm.

Hoarsely, she demanded, "I’m going to need answers."

Roy couldn’t even look at her. He said, "I assessed my enemy’s weaknesses and acted accordingly. Douglas’ ultimate weakness is women. I asked Richmond to dress me up as one to win the stupid bet."

Okay. That made sense. A vague, delirious kind of sense, but exactly the type of thing Roy might actually do. He was an intensely bad loser, after all. "Where’d you get all the gear?"

"Oh, Richmond had pretty much everything we needed just lying around." He scratched at his stubble. “That guy has dated some really forgetful women."

Jen got the feeling that that wasn’t the reason.

She allowed Roy to take the money, but he didn’t seem any happier even a hundred pounds richer.

Something about the whole bizarre affair didn’t add up. The cogwheels were starting to turn inside her head. "So, you showed up at Moss’ blind date dressed in drag..."

"Yes."

"And he thought you’re his date because..."

He chuckled fondly. "The man is _completely_ face blind. Miscommunication. Yeah."

But. Moss had been going out with Marie for three months. Right? Surely Moss wouldn’t lie about that? Or, more importantly, be able to maintain a lie for that long?

"And afterwards you told Moss about the mix-up..."

Roy wasn’t filling in that one.

Jen tentatively added: "Had a good laugh about it, introduced the real Marie to him..?"

He was back to glum and hiding behind his tea. "No. He’s, um, he’s never actually met the real Marie."

Oh, right. Okay.

 _Oh_.

"I’m going to start yelling now," she announced.

"But you promised," Roy yelped.

"Well, it’s either that or the ball-kneeing!"

"Permission to yell granted..."

"Do you realise," Jen bellowed, "what you’ve done! The, the, the extent of the emotional damage this is going to inflict on Moss when he finds out! Do you not comprehend that your best friend is _never_ going to speak to you again!"

"I know! I know!"

"You don’t! You obviously don’t! This really is a new low for you, Roy, and there’s something fucking wrong with you for doing this to poor Moss! There’s no bloody excuse! There’s _nothing_ funny about this! You’re the worst!"

Roy was frozen in perpetual flinch like a first grader being scolded by the headmaster. "I know, I know, I _know!_ "

"The only reason–"

A banging sound Jen knew well interrupted her. The vicious little granny from the apartment over had woken up, and was undoubtedly already writing the first draft of yet another complaint to the landlord.

Jen took a slow breath and hissed: "The only reason I haven’t fed you to the sharks yet is because I know a con like this isn’t your M.O. Nah..." She leaned back on her chair and crossed her legs across the kitchen table. "You’re a small-timer, a petty little troll. What you’ve done here seems more like the work of a sociopath. So what’s in this for you, huh? What’s your real endgame?"

Roy, voice dripping with sarcasm, said: "I’m sorry, are you trying to do some sort of detective impression? ‘Cause all I’m getting is this weird mom vibe."

Jen leapt up, reached over the kitchen table, and pulled at his ear. "No backtalk, young man! You’re in big enough trouble already."

Roy rubbed gingerly at the side of his head and muttered an apology. If he wasn’t the earthly manifestation of the concept of regret before, he was now definitely looking like he might give up all his possessions and join a monastery in Tibet.

Jen appraised Roy’s well-groomed if drunken visage. She _had_ wondered in passing why there were nail polish stains on Roy’s desk. A lot of things were starting to make sense in light of this new information.

And yet, some things made even less sense. The case was far from closed.

She said, "You’re going away for a long time, Roy, but I can cut you a deal. If you tell me the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, I’ll see what I can do about shortening your sentence."

"We’re in court now–? Ow!" He shooed her ear-pulling hand away and ruffled his hair with both hands. Just as in poker, he was rubbish at hiding his tells. "Meaning?"

"I’ll put in a good word for you when Moss cuts all ties with you."

Roy sat up straight. Jen could sometimes forget how tall he was without his perpetual slouch. "Moss wouldn’t do that. Would he?" He seemed suddenly startled, as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him before now. As if it wasn’t the entire and only reason he’d come to Jen’s house at 3 AM pissed out of his idiot mind.

"Just tell me why."

Roy clicked his tongue. “Why! Why! For fuck’s sake, Jen, there is no ‘why’! There was never any ‘why’! Look, I’d already agreed to a second date with him before I found out about the misunderstanding. Obviously I was _gonna_  tell him. But then…” He slouched again, seemed wound tight all of a sudden. “He texted me that night to tell me that he’d really clicked with Marie. He actually said he hadn’t been so excited since his first time with 56k! He was just so happy! You know? What kind of a heartless bastard would take that from him?”

Jen knew exactly what kind.

Roy continued: "I thought, well, does he really _have_ to find out that it wasn’t real? I’m the only one who knows. To everyone else in the world, Moss went out with a woman – albeit a freakishly tall and ugly one. Why should _my_ reality be considered more valid than everyone else’s?"

"Ugh," was all Jen could say to crock of that calibre.

"So a plan occurred to me: Marie and Moss have their second date. They hang out, she tells him it’s not working out, and he and Marie go their separate ways. He gets to retain the illusion of his first proper date, and I get to go back to never wearing a bra again. Squid pro quo."

Jen had to admit that, despite the gross selfish motivation, it _was_ still sort of altruistic. Could she really judge Roy for a plan that, had it not failed, would have benefited everyone involved?

Yes. Yes, she could, because it _had_ failed, and because it was an incredibly stupid plan, and because Roy was a terrible person.

She _ugh_ ed a second time, with feeling.

"Don’t _ugh_ me! It totally would’ve worked! I just didn’t count on them having so much fun. They had the loveliest of times, Jen! He and Marie have this easy connection, it’s like they’ve been dating for years! And he was _such_ a gentleman throughout. When Moss asked if he could see her the next day, it caught Marie completely off-guard, and it didn’t even occur to her to not agree. And then on the third date, the exact same thing happened again. And again, and again, and again – and the next thing I know, Marie has been going out with Maurice for three months, things are getting a bit serious–"

"No, I’m sorry. I’m going to have to stop you right there. ' _Maurice_ '? Are you for real?"

"That’s how he first introduced himself to her, so that’s what she calls him."

Insane. This was insane! He’d lost his mind, there was no other explanation for this. "And don’t you mean that’s what _you_ call him? That _you_ have been going out with 'Maurice'?"

Roy was now restlessly pacing around the kitchen. "Well, not really. It’s not me, is it? Moss wouldn’t date Marie if she wasn’t a woman."

"But you’re not a woman! You’re a man! You _identify_ as a man!"

"I know! And yet the fact remains that they’re dating, Jen! What do you expect me to do?!"

She slammed her hands on the table. "I expect you to treat Moss with basic human decency and tell him the truth! You have to dump him!"

"Why should _she_ have to dump him just because of a little mix-up? They’re happy together!"

_"Stop using the third person as if you’re not involved in this!"_

" _But I’m not!_ I’m _not_ part of it! I don’t know how it could be made _any_ clearer that their happiness does not involve me in _any capacity—!"_

Their yelling was again interrupted by banging from the apartment over. Good Lord, would she give it a rest? The wrinkly old witch really should learn to be more considerate of other people.

And now here they were. Jen watched Roy watch his mug, his hands balled into fists, knuckles white. She thought he looked simultaneously younger and older than Jen had ever seen him.

She softly asked: "Are they really?"

"What?”

"Happy together."

Roy shrugged with aggressive nonchalance. "Marie wants to take things slow. Moss is beyond chuffed anyway. I’m pretty much the same as I’ve always been, aside from living a carefully constructed lie every waking moment. I can’t—" He shook his head, a mirthless half-grin tugging up one side of his face. "I just, I can’t. I can’t, Jen."

"Then you have to tell him the truth, Roy."

He continued to shake his head. "I know."

"I don’t care if it’s your truth or ... Marie’s, but you’ve _got_ to end it before he finds out, or he’ll never forgive you. Either one of you."

"I’ll tell him, Jen. I promise."

"Good. Roy?"

"Yeah?"

"You’ve got vomit on your cheek. I didn’t want to interrupt, um…"

Roy felt his face, made a face, and swiftly walked out of the room. She could hear him close the bathroom door, run water, then call out her name.

"Yes?"

"Is it okay if I sleep over?"

She called back: "You mean on the sofa, right?"

"Of course on the sofa! For Christ’s sake, Jen, I’m in a relationsh—…it."

The following mortified silence stretched well into Monday.


	3. Chapter 3

Roy used his phone to check his make-up one last time before pressing the doorbell. A few Googled how-to guides, three months of practice, and a lifetime of training one’s hand-eye-coordination via gaming could do wonders for one’s ability to put paint on one’s face.

Not that _Roy_ did that sort of thing. It was all Marie.

Moss took a while longer than usual to get the door. When his head popped out, he seemed to petrify.

There was no point in mincing his words. "Hey. We need to talk. Is this a bad time?"

The other man glanced over his shoulder at something in the apartment. "It is, actually. There’s a bit of a situation; you’d best go now if you don’t want to be stuck—"

" _Moss! Who is it? It’s not that Trenneman boy, is it?_ "

"It’s not, Mum..."

" _Because you know how I feel about you spending time with him, Moss. He’s a bad influence._ "

"It’s not Roy, Mum!" To Roy, he whispered: "I haven’t picked up her calls all morning, so she’s dropped by to make sure I haven’t started doing drugs. I haven’t told her I have a girlfriend yet."

Jesus Christ. The dreaded Mrs Moss herself. Roy had only ever met her briefly, but he’d never liked what he’d heard of her. More importantly, there was a slim chance Mrs Moss might recognise him.

_"Well, you’ve gone and opened the door, Moss, you might as well invite them in! Where are your manners?"_

"Would you like to come in." Moss animatedly gestured for him to flee for his life.

Roy had barely had time to consider taking the heels off just so he could properly run when a looming shadow appeared behind Moss’ shoulder. Moss stepped aside to make room, and an impossibly tall figure materialised between them.

It was _her_.

Mrs Moss’ steel grey hair might have once been blonde. With eyes like hers, she could have beat Sauron in a staring contest. She seemed to suffer from none of the physical ailments that usually came with her age. But the only thing about Mrs Moss that Roy could focus on was that he had to tilt his head backwards to make eye contact with her.

Roy realised that he hadn’t comprehensively understood that one Nietzsche quote about staring into the abyss before. As Mrs Moss dragged her piercing gaze from his heels to the top of his head ever so slowly, Roy held his breath. In his mind’s eye, he saw her call his bluff and murder him with a single stomp, like the sole of God descending from the clouds to crush his cockroach self.

She pressed her thin lips together and demanded, "Moss, who’s this?"

He had passed the test. He would diminish, and go home, and remain Roy.

Moss, on the other hand, seemed to shrink into nothingness - all 6’ 3" of him. "Mum, this is Marie."

Mrs Moss crossed her arms and arched a single eyebrow at him.

Moss added: "M-my girlfriend..."

To Roy, she said: "Come in, then. We’ll get to know each other."

"I-I can't," he stuttered. "I’m actually in a bit of a hurry..."

Pointless. Hopeless. Her looming presence had already disappeared inside.

Moss positively bristled. "God knows I love my Mum, but she makes me feel like I’m five years old again!"

 _And five centimetres tall_. "I know what you mean."

Roy followed Moss into his apartment. Despite Moss having moved in two months ago, there were still a few unopened cardboard boxes stacked in forgotten, out-of-sight corners. Though it was obvious that interior design was not high on Moss’ list of priorities, the place was by no means ascetic; it was just that it was more of a shrine dedicated to technology than somewhere a person might live. Roy would personally have preferred to have a bit more colour around, but generally felt that Moss’ home fell about six more sockets and a bigger telly short of his personal heaven. It was just as well that the settee was too small for him to comfortably sleep on, because otherwise he’d probably never go home at all.

After today, he’d just have to learn to like his own place again.

The more Roy thought about the purpose of his visit, the more he was irritated that this demon of a woman had joined them on his last day in paradise. Mrs Moss sat opposite from the two of them, on the other side of a coffee table that was piled high with remotes, controllers, books, comics, CD cases, and pizza boxes. There was a pile of empty cans next to it on the floor.

"Still can’t keep your room clean, I see," she noted.

"I wasn’t expecting any quests..."

"Wasn’t the only one today, was I?"

He snapped: "Marie doesn’t mind, or I’d have ruddy done something about it, wouldn’t I!"

"Really?" Mrs Moss exposed her teeth at Roy. "You don’t think housekeeping is important, Marie?"

Wasn’t that just brilliant! Moss had gone and drawn aggro on a mob neither of them could handle, then made _him_ tank it. Not that it wasn’t their usual arrangement; out of the two of them, Roy was slightly more adept at handling people. But this was Marie! Shouldn’t Moss have been valiantly defending her from his mother’s judgment?

Unless he didn’t know how.

Roy glanced at Moss, and fancied that, somewhere in there, he could see a teary-eyed kid surrounded by a jury of cats, trying to explain glass shards in tiny evidence bags.

Roy took Moss’ hand and started gently rubbing it with his thumb. "With all due respect, Mrs Moss, I’m here to spend time with Maurice, not to comment on his hygiene." Which was still a billion times better than his, as Jen was fond of reminding. But Mrs Moss didn’t need to know that.

"Right," Mrs Moss said, nonplussed. "If you don’t mind me asking, Marie, how did you meet Moss? The boy really doesn’t go out that much…”

Moss heaved a long-suffering sigh.

"A friend introduced us,” Roy said.

"A friend," Mrs Moss repeated. "You know that Trenneman boy, then?"

“I’m right here, Mum...”

Roy cleared his throat. "Yeah, I suppose you could say that. We grew up in the same town."

"In Ireland, you mean." She further wrinkled her nose. "And how long have you been dating, exactly?"

"Three months."

"And?"

And what? Did she expect him to have timed it with a stopwatch? "And... Four days... Sixteen hours, ish..?"

He looked to Moss for guidance, who supplied: "And she doesn’t hate me."

"Oh, don’t be rude, Moss! Let Marie speak for herself."

Oh boy. Roy forced himself to let out a polite little chuckle. "It’s true, our relationship is one hundred per cent hate-free."

Mrs Moss gazed off into a far-off memory and frowned. "Do you know, when Moss was growing up, I really did wonder sometimes..." She shook her head at a thought Roy was relieved she didn’t share out loud. "In any case, I’m very relieved."

Roy took one look at Moss’ tight-lipped, admonished school-boy look, and felt another little part of his soul die forever. "Why do you say that?” Especially here, now, to anyone, ever?

Mrs Moss waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, come on, now. I love my son dearly, but you must know as well as I do that you’re doing a very generous thing here."

Roy could feel the core of his being leaking battery acid into his veins. It spread to his throat, his mouth, his tongue. The taste lingered. He wanted to spit it out. For the first time in his life, he wanted to brush his teeth.

Righteous fury flared, and what came out of his mouth was, "‘Generous’? Maurice is not a charity case. I’m not a charity _service_.” He turned to face at Moss. “I’m sorry, Maurice, do you perhaps have a second mother I’ve yet to meet? You’ve always spoken so highly of your mum, but this can’t possibly be that person.”

Moss’ mother was stunned for a moment, a flash of genuine surprise in her eyes, and Roy imagined grinning in victory up towards that giant sole that couldn’t crush him after all.

“I’m going to help myself to a cup of tea," she finally said.

Roy was so full of malicious glee watching her flee into the kitchen, he almost missed the insistent squeeze on his hand. Moss was gaping at him in open worship. "Marie, that was the Pokédex definition of ‘super effective’! I mean, whoa!"

Roy admired the polish on the nails of his unoccupied hand. He rather felt like the cat that had swallowed the canary, then personally hunted that entire species of birds into extinction. "Was it?"

"It totally was! I’ve never heard anyone talk to her like that!" Moss glanced in the general direction of the kitchen and whispered: "But you shouldn’t have to put up with any of my Mum’s nonsense. If you want to, I’ll ask her to leave."

Oh, Moss. Roy reached out and ran his thumb along his jawline. "Of course I don’t _have_ to put up with her. And neither do you. You know that, right?"

"Right," Moss muttered. He fiddled with his fingers and got up from the sofa. "Be right back."

He went into the kitchen. Over ten minutes, Roy could hear fragments of a hushed argument he was sure he didn’t want to be involved in. He decided to think of every possible thing he could say about the recent, present, and future weather.

_"... In front of ..."_

_"... Like I’m some sort..."_

_"I_ never _said ..."_

Roy tried to remember what the weather had been like a week ago, when they’d gone to the park on Moss’ lunch break. Well, _their_ lunch break. Had it been sunny? At least there had definitely been a short-lived but heavy shower of rain – yes, definitely a bit of rain, because he could remember rushing towards a large tree in fear of the rain washing off his make-up. Moss had offered Marie his jacket. They had huddled under it together. Moss had made some sort of a crack about rom coms and survival horror that they’d both really laughed at.

_"... Never had a criminal record ..."_

Really chilly last night, though. Not that his fingers were actually in any danger of falling off. Bit of a cold front moving in. Something about air pressure… 

_"I am your mother!"_

_"And I’m a big boy now, so you’ll just have to trust that I know what I’m doing!_ Now please leave so I can have a private discussion with my girlfriend!"

Mrs Moss stormed out of the kitchen, purse clutched under one arm, enormous hands clenched into even more gargantuan fists. Roy shot up on the sofa, unsure of what to expect. Did women abide by the ‘never hit women’ rule as well? What was the etiquette for self-defence in case of attack by your potential future mother-in-law?

"Marie," Mrs Moss said icily by way of farewell, and left the apartment.

Roy sunk back into the cushions and took a few deep breaths. Moss came out of the kitchen with the heaviest of feet and sat right next to him.

"Oh, that felt good. I should’ve done that ages ago," he said, though nothing in his despondent expression seemed to agree with the statement.

"We are the champions, my friend," Roy agreed, and put his arm around Moss’ shoulder.

He felt Moss relax next to him. For a moment, he relished their shared victory. The demon had been exorcised. Next on the agenda: video games, bit of snogging, freezer dinner—

"Are you going to break up with me now?"

His train of thought completely derailed, fell into a ravine, no survivors. "Sorry, what?"

"You said we needed to talk. I’ve seen enough films to know where this is going."

Oh, that’s right; he actually came for a reason. "Look, Maurice—"

"It’s alright," Moss said, and continued to look nothing like it. "I completely understand why you’re breaking up with me. It’s like my mother says; I’m quite simply the opposite of what one would call ‘the complete package’."

Oh, no. Oh, nooo! That wasn’t what he’d meant! Moss wasn’t supposed to think it was his fault, but how the hell was he going to convince him otherwise after the whole mum debacle? It would all have been for nothing! All the times Roy’d injured himself on those stupid shoes; the weird looks he’d gotten from the cashier for purchasing women’s underwear in his own size; learning to type with long nails; all that cat calling! No. He refused to let it end like this. Moss deserved to have this relationship, if nothing else, to fondly recall to in his old age. Roy would just have to be Marie a little while longer. Surely Jen would understand that, sometimes, a man’s gotta do what a woman’s gotta do.

The things I do for this friendship, Roy lamented. He pressed his forehead to Moss’ and gently held his shoulders.

"There’s _nothing_ wrong with you, Maurice," he said, with an air of sober authority. "Regardless of what your mother thinks."

Moss stared awkwardly off to the side, eyes darting around infinitesimally in the way they did when he was trying not to stare.

"Maurice? You okay?"

Moss kissed him.

A typical kiss from Moss– well. Roy was barely able to admit to himself that he was, at this stage, actually very familiar with what was a _typical_ kiss from Moss was like: tentative, quick, even chaste. Often on the cheek. Always in passing. But the way Moss kissed him now was assertive, thorough. Intense, even. In a word:

hot..?

Sweet Jesus. No amount of time could have prepared him for the emotional turmoil.

Roy was still blinking the stars away from his eyes when Moss clarified, with his no-nonsense tone: "Marie, I think you’re the bee’s knees."

Was there even a word for what this was? Roy desperately thought that the English language had failed him yet again. _In too deep_ did not suffice to describe the extent of the situation. _Bit off more than he could chew_ lacked severity. _In over his head.._? Was it just him, or did they all sound like double entendres? He didn’t need this. He’d acquired knowledge of what it was like to really, truly, actually, _personally_ date Moss, and he needed a neutral way to process the hole he’d dug for himse— _hole_. Fucking hell. Okay.

In his quest for womanhood, he’d... Gone and taken a bite of the Forbidden Apple. There! He could do this.

Moss said cheerfully, "That’s ‘I love you’, translated from Moss to English!"

Nope. Nope! He could not do this. It was fine when it was still just friendship with cross-dressing and the occasional fake pity kiss. Now it was love! Fake love! What was next, fake engagement? Fake marriage? Fake pregnancy?

Fake baby? Fake baby’s graduation?

To stave off the profound sense of guilt that was threatening to crush him, he got rid of the little distance that was between their mouths and focused his attention on a fake make-out session.

Truly, he’d missed his calling. He should’ve been an actor! He could picture himself in his mind’s eye, giving an interview to a star-struck journalist. _I’ll let you in on a little trade secret: the trick is to enjoy it, just as much as you’d enjoy the real thing._ Or maybe: _Me and my collaborator are a canvas, our tongues are paintbrushes, and together we paint a portrait of passion..._ Some bullshite like that.

Roy’s lung capacity had failed him three times by the time Moss gently pushed him away, and still his painting felt nowhere near finished. Moss adjusted his eyeglasses and stuttered, "Um, would you like to..?"

What did that even _mean_? There was no knowing. It was too risky. 

"I’m..." Make something up, Roy, for fuck’s sake. _I’m moving to Siberia. I’m getting married. I’m infested with crabs. I’m your best and only friend! I’m so, so sorry!_ "I’m game!"

Brilliant. His mouth was just saying things now, just... Saying things that had no grounding in reality. Unbelievable! No, it was okay. Moss was Innocent, Inexperienced, and Insecure – the Triforce of sexual obliviousness. It’d be fine.

Moss bent over and took off his shoes. His belt followed suit.

"Whoa," Roy said. "What, what are you doing?"

Moss looked at him with the naked panic of a man who is obviously trying not to freak out. "Did we not just agree..?

 _Is there a way of asking you what you were asking_ me _without giving away that the answer depends on the question?_ Abort, abort mission!

"No, yeah, we did! I just... I’d like you to close your eyes and lie back. Okay?"

"May I ask why?"

"I... have... a birthmark… on my vag… that I’m very self-conscious about."

Roy felt more self-concious about his inability to lie convincingly on the spot, but Moss’ eyes slid shut regardless.

The very moment he was technically the only person in the room who could see what he was doing, morbid curiosity took Roy in a stranglehold and transformed him into the ultimate philanthrope. Nothing was going to happen. No one was here to judge him. So why not do some good deeds while he was at it?

His first deed as a shining beacon of altruism was carefully climbing onto Moss’ lap – because he would appreciate the proximity.

He took off Moss’ glasses, set them on the coffee table, and touched his cheek – so he wouldn’t be uncomfortable. That was what it was all about, wasn’t it? Making Moss feel comfortable. Relaxed. Wanted.

He took his sweet time leaving a mark or two on Moss’ neck – so he could spot them in the bathroom mirror the next day and have something pleasant to think about while he flossed. 

He idly ran his hand through Moss’ Pac-Man hair... Just for himself, just the once. Twice. More than twice. Hairdressers fiddled with other people’s hair all the time, and no one thought that was out of line. It was all good.

He unbuttoned Moss’ shirt – so he wouldn’t feel too hot. Wasn’t the room inexplicably hot? Must’ve been all that tech generating the heat.

He reached for the zipper – and promptly ran out of capacity for self-deception.

His senses kicked in all at once. Both of them were breathing and sweating like they were fresh off the stairs. Moss ever so slightly shivered under him. He could smell the scent of Moss’ fruity conditioner on his fingers, feel the abstract absence of his lips on his own.

He started to shake himself, too, growing weak under the immense weight of his conscience.

_This program has performed an illegal operation..._

"Oh, please," Moss suddenly breathed, voice trembling and raw and probably as low as it ever went. "I promise I won’t look at your birthmark. I’ll wear a blindfold, if that’s what you want. I don’t mind."

Roy very nearly gave in at the mental image of Moss, helpless and bare on his back, blindfolded by one of his own ties, hands blindly reaching out to–

What was _that_? Gave in to _what_? For fuck’s sake, Roy, focus! Focus on whatever it is that you’re trying to achieve here!

"I’ve never done this before," he said. At least it was definitely true.

Moss joined his hands behind her back in a loose embrace. "Marie, whatever you decide, I’m down for it. Sex? I’m your man. Not sex? I’m also your man. It’s all gravy, barring major violations of the law." Vulnerable as he was, with his closed eyes and careful, slow smile, Roy thought Moss looked a bit like he was having a pleasant dream. He personally felt more like he was having a hallucination.

Calm down. Concentrate. You are not Roy! Roy isn’t here. You’re Marie. Think! What would Marie do in this situation?

 _Marie would_ so _hit that._

He’d finally found his limit, Roy realized; the one line he could not, would not, should not cross. It would have to be a line Marie couldn’t cross either. Hey! Maybe she could come out as gay. Not now, but later. That sometimes happened, didn’t it, people suddenly re-evaluating their sexuality in their late thirties? It was very plausible, and there was no way Moss could blame himself for someone else’s sexuality. This could be Marie’s truth! _I really do fancy you, but I just can’t find it in me to be attracted to a guy. I’m sure you understand._..

Oh, yes! This plan was infallible. The perfect out! Everything was going to work out all right!

"Oh, I don’t know, Moss, I just..." Good Lord, how hard he was finding it to not grin. Was he not on a roll today? He slid off from Moss’ lap and back onto the settee. "I mean, I think you’re gorgeous and everything, but today I just feel like cuddling."

"Come again?"

"I said you look gorgeous—"

Moss’ eyes moved from side to side under the lids. "No, before that."

"I said something before that?"

"You called me ‘Moss’."

“Oh.” Oh! Roy, you stupid bloody bastard. “No, I-I-I said… me arse.”

The instant the sentence left his mouth, Roy realised would’ve been less incriminating to say nothing at all.

Moss said, “Don’t bother, Trenneman.”

The moment that followed could have gone down in history as the longest they’d ever held eye contact with one another. It could even have been the longest Moss had held eye contact with anyone, had his eyes been open. Instead, the two of them spent a moment looking at the back of their eyelids. What Roy would remember years later was the feeling that came over him then, in that self-imposed darkness: a unique mixture of panic and relief, both emotions heightened to maximum intensity and in no way lessened by one another. He imagined it was exactly what it would feel like to soak in a tub full of topical anaesthetic.

There was nothing to say. ‘I can explain’? ‘I just felt so sorry for you’? ‘I never meant for it to go this far’?

With shaky fingers, Moss began to re-button his shirt.

Roy pulled off the wig and sucked in a breath. "Sooo. What now?"

Moss shrugged. "By my estimate, I can only hold myself together for maybe two more minutes. After that, I expect things will get very noisy. Snot and ice cream everywhere…"

"Right. Yes."

"You should be gone by then."

"Okay. Um, I’ll see you at work?"

"I’ll be in touch with you if I ever want to see you again."

Roy left.

 

* * *

 

 

On Friday afternoon, he knocked on Jen’s office door.

"Come in, Roy."

He fell onto the chair opposite Jen and stared at her expectantly. "Any word?"

Jen tapped away on her keyboard, eyes focused on the display. He noticed that she still fake typed like an amateur, four fingers lazily running over the same four keys over and over. Every once in a while, she hit space. What did she think she was writing with only one row of letters?

She said, "If there was, don’t you think I would’ve told you, if only to stop you from bothering me every half an hour?"

"I just don’t know what to expect when he’s like this. Usually when he’s angry he just sort of pouts. It’s been a week! How long is he going to be angry with me?"

"You know, Roy, it sort of makes me want to choke you when you talk like you’re the victim in all this."

"Trust me, it’s been made very clear to me that everyone thinks I’m the bad guy here, and I don’t disagree. But someone’s bound to notice that Moss hasn’t been to work all week. What’s he going to do when that happens? Quit?"

"I don’t know. Maybe." She continued to tap away without a care in the world.

Roy rhythmically rapped his fingernails against the desk. His polish had begun to flake off with the amount of nervous nail-biting and finger-drumming he was doing lately. Just as well; the girls on seventh were starting to whisper, and it was only a matter of time before their inquisitive looks turned into direct questions.

"Maybe _I_ should quit," Roy sighed. "He shouldn’t have to be the one risk his job. I’m the villain here."

"You are, though."

"Yeah, I know _._ "

"You really, really are."

He helplessly spread his arms at her. " _I know!_ Geez, it’s like you’re on his side or something."

Jen tilted her head to one side and stared at him for an unnervingly long time without blinking. Eventually she shook her head and asked, "Just out of curiosity, what did you tell him your ploy was all for?"

"Nothing. I didn’t even get the chance. He’s blocked me on everything – and I do mean  _everything_. I went over to his place on Wednesday to leave him a letter, but he’d glued the letter plate shut."

"You actually wrote him a letter? To say what?"

He’d spent hours agonising over the same question. "Oh, I just wrote, 'Please don’t hate me forever.'"

Jen scoffed at something the screen. "Shouldn’t you be trying a little harder, you know, figuring out how you’re going to beg for his forgiveness?"

"Well, I don’t know what to say!" Roy rubbed at his crusty eyes. "Oh, how did it come to this? We never fight."

Jen hummed in agreement. A moment later she said, "You know, that’s actually a pretty good question. How _did_ it come to this, Roy?"

"I told you. We were hanging out, and I accidentally called him—"

She could barely conceal her grin. "So it’s _we_ and _I_ now, is it? Not _they_ and _Marie_?"

"Marie’s dead," Roy stated, flat and irritated.

"Fair enough. But you told me you went over to break up with him, right, and suddenly you’re just ‘hanging out’?"

"I just…" Roy winced. With the amount of sleep he’d been getting lately, it was getting hard to think straight. "I guess some of the stuff you said a week ago made me feel a bit guilty about the whole thing, and I wanted to make it up to him, but the more I tried, the worse I felt, and the worse I felt…" Roy spun his hands to indicate a continuous circle.

Jen’s nose twitched. "Uh-huh. What do you mean by ‘making it up to him’?"

"Oh, you know, all that basic relationship stuff he likes so much. Compliments, playful banter, the occasional kiss, t—" The word seemed to expand in his throat and clog it up the moment he tried to get it out. He swallowed it and tried again. "Touching…"

JJen calmly pressed the lid of her laptop down and swept a stray lock of hair off her eyes. "Sorry, what? Oh my God, _touching_? Is that what I think it is?"

"You heard me," Roy accused. Jen was always freaking out over nothing, and he, for one, was sick of being blamed for everything. "And sure, it’s _exactly_ what you think it is, Jen, because I’m psychic and know precisely what’s on your mind at any given moment."

Jen sneered. "I meant!" She curled her fingers into a loose fist, which she vertically shook with vigour.

Roy’s indignation was easily enough to overpower the shiver that ran along his spine at the mental image. "I’m a man, Jen! He’s a man! We’re men."

"I know. That’s what I meant." She gave him one of her more malicious smirks.

"Get your mind out of the gutter, Jen! Mates touch each other platonically all the time. It’s harmless. Here—"

Roy reached out to put his hand on her shoulder. Jen slapped it away the moment it came within a foot of her. ”And _where on his body_ have you been platonically touching Moss?”

Roy considered the way his hands had been roaming over Moss’ arms, under his shirt, and very nearly into his trousers. Was there anywhere above his belly button where he _hadn’t_ touched? Armpits, maybe. Eyes. Ears—no, wait. Yeah. Just the armpits and eyes.

There was no way Jen would understand what it was like to be so selfless that you’d fondle your best friend, but she was undoubtedly getting suspicious of how long it was taking him to respond, so he said: "Various areas on his head, limbs and torso?"

Jen looked at him like he’d said something completely insane. "Do you actually hear yourself? Are you genuinely that hopeless, or do you just take me for an idiot?"

"What? What did I do now?" As he’d thought. Jen could sometimes be so blind. "I’m _self_ less, is what I am! Of course _you_ wouldn’t know what it’s like!"

"Moss was right, this is pointless," Jen muttered.

What! The nerve of this– this— "Judas! You said you hadn’t heard from him all week!"

Jen clicked her tongue. "Oh, of course I’ve heard from him! Who else is he going to talk to about how his girlfriend broke his heart and humiliated him? His mother, after you antagonised the two of them into a quarrel? Or you, his best friend, who he can’t bear to see to the extent that he might soon get fired? I know we’re friends, Roy, but it’s really difficult to feel sorry for you when your head is so far up your arse!" She took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, but you’ll just have to sort this out yourself."

So many low blows, but this was no time to get mad at her. He needed her. "I _can’t_ sort this out myself! That’s why we have you, a relationship manager, to deal with our shit!"

"Yes, that’s relationship _manager_ , not relationship _counsellor_. And I can’t help you when you can’t even be honest with yourself."

Fine. Jen had already decided what she wanted to hear, and if this was the only way he was going to get her help, he’d just have to swallow a bit more of his pride and go along with it.

"Okay, alright," he relented. He leaned back his chair and put his hands up like one might on gunpoint. ”I admit it. I’m gay for Moss. I’m super gay for him. That’s what this has all been about. There never even was any Marie. How would I have female friends? What kind of self-respecting woman would be friends with _me?"_

Jen growled, "If you’re not going to take this seriously—"

"I _am_ being serious. Why else would I have gone to the effort of pretending to be a woman? Learning how to walk in heels? Watching dozens of make-up tutorials on YouTube? Buying women’s clothes? Jen, I had to get myself measured for a _bra_. That was one of the worst experiences of my life." Oh, this fake alibi almost wrote itself. "All that stuff, for three full months. Just so Moss could live a beautiful lie?" His eyes shot towards the stratosphere questioningly.

”Eh, it was a mildly attractive lie at best," Jen said. "Fantastic legs, though."

"Thank you. But we both know I’m not _that_ great of a friend.” It was so convincing, he could almost believe it himself. "We know the real reason I did all of this."

Jen seemed puzzled. "I don’t understand. You’re really saying you’re in love with Moss?"

"Why wouldn’t I be? We’re a perfect match. We’ve known each other for so long we’re practically married already." If required, he could elaborate all day.

"But—hang on. You’re straight." She laughed dryly. "You’re _so_ straight."

"Well, that’s..." An astute observation, for sure, but Jen was no match for him. He could just open his mouth and the required lie would simply come out, like magic. "There eventually comes a time in every man’s life, Jen, when he finds that a great pair of tits, while still _very_ lovely,  are no longer enough for a fulfilling life. This is just one step further from there."

"Hmm," Jen said, and stared off into the distance, no doubt searching through her mental archives for some sort of cross reference for his false aphorism.

Roy found it very easy to fake a pitiful expression. It wasn’t like he wasn’t miserable about the whole thing, gay or straight. "So will you help me? All I want is for things to go back to normal. That’s all I’m asking. Everything else I can live with."

"I can’t make that decision for Moss," Jen said, but her hard glare had definitely softened up.

"Just talk to him! He’ll listen to you. As the head of this department, you’re like our leader. The queen! You have power and influence beyond us mere peasants!"

"The queen," she repeated, palms upon her cheeks. "Really?"

Hook, line... "Really."

"I’m gonna go call him." Jen decided. Aaand sinker! She grabbed her phone and got up. Before she passed him, she said, "For what it’s worth, he really does miss her, Roy."

He watched her exit her office. Probably no chance he could listen in on the phone conversation – but he _could_ check if they’d been messaging each other online. Roy held his breath and listened, but couldn’t hear anyone else in the basement. He snuck around the desk and popped the lid of Jen’s laptop open, expecting to find Word open and full of nonsense.

Instead, he found QWOP. _Personal best: 100.7 metres._

In the end, he decided not to disturb Jen’s computer.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Jen re-entered the basement, Roy was back to his own computer, staring at an empty Notepad.

"I have good news and bad news," Jen declared. She sat on the edge of his desk. "Moss has agreed to meet you to discuss ceasefire. Negotiations will take place on neutral ground, tomorrow at noon. You’re late by even one minute, the negotiations are off."

If only Roy had time to question and properly make fun of all these roles Jen was assuming. "Neutral ground?"

"That café across from your cousin’s weird bookshop."

"Ah."

"I will be present to oversee that there won’t be any foul play."

"Okay. That’s good. That’s good, isn’t it?" Roy scratched the back of his head, his ginger curls tickling his wrist. "So what’s the bad news?"

Jen cleared her throat. She took her time to, presumably, find a sufficiently grave term way to deliver the message.  "There are... Conditions."

"Okay.” Roy slapped his hands together and rubbed them. He was ready for this. "I can do conditions. What are the conditions?"

"Moss wants Marie there. I took that to mean he expects the clothes, the wig, all of it."

"Oh..." Right. That wasn’t exactly a problem, but it wasn’t so much the question of the _how_ that worried him. Roy scrunched up his face. "Kay... Did he say why?"

"He said he wants to talk to the only woman he’s ever loved for one last time, before she’s..." Jen sniffled. "Before she’s gone forever."

"Wh– why are you crying?"

She carefully dabbed the corners of her eyes on a sleeve. "Why are you _not_ crying!? That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard in my life! Such a sweet guy, the only woman he’s loved, and his feelings are _wasted_ on an arsehole like _you!"_

Oh, balls. Roy thought he’d rather have taken a knee in the crotch than this punch in the gut. He knew what to do with Angry Jen, Vindictive Jen, Mama Bear Jen, the whole lot. But Crying Jen? Not his forte. "No, that’s... Come on. That’s not fair. _I_ may be an arsehole..."  _And a villain, and a faker, and the worst friend ever – Roy Trenneman, the man of a hundred titles, each worse than the last!_  "But _Marie_ has always treated Moss with the utmost respect. That never changed."

"And now she’s dead!" Jen outright sobbed, sending sticky droplets flying out of her nose and onto his desk.

"Aw, no. Jen. Jen, don’t cry. Jen..."

"You said they were happy together!"

Shit. Damage control. How did people defuse these situations? "I may have exaggerated. I mean, three months, who knows, right? Maybe they were never gonna work out."

Jen drew a shuddering breath. "So what you’re saying is, best case scenario, Moss still would’ve had his heart broken, but in a different way? And that’s supposed to be comforting?"

"Well, I... I didn’t think..." There was so much he hadn’t thought of at all. "Look, I just, I wanted him to have the, the experience of..." He knew the sentence needed more words, but they just weren’t coming to him.

"The experience of being dumped? By _the only woman he’s ever loved?"_

Oh, now his eyes were starting to water as well. "Wow, I guess, when you put it like that, it doesn’t sound..." He couldn’t even finish the sentence. Yep, he was a couple more droplets of eye fluid away from officially crying, at work, with Jen. This was his life now. This was why he couldn’t have nice things.

The hallway to the IT department echoed with fast, heavy footsteps over their duet of not-quite-blubbering. Douglas jogged in, took a look around. His furious expression seemed to demand apology for a slight Roy couldn’t even begin to guess at.

Jen immediately slid off the desk and onto her feet, eyes dry and posture straight. From wailing romantic to stern businesswoman in two seconds flat – that was one of the great things about having her around. It was like having a designated grown-up. If she’d ever bothered to learn how to use Google to its full potential, he and Moss would have been fired ages ago.

She said, "Is there something we can help you with, Mr Reynholm?"

"I’m here about a consultation of utmost importance!" Douglas punctuated the last words by waving his arm through the air twice, like Captain Kirk trying to karate chop a ghost.

"Well, Moss is off sick, but Roy here can answer any questions y–"

"No." Douglas pointed at Roy with his thumb. "That one’s no good. Where’s the other one? Er, Moy, or whatever his name is."

Roy had the good sense to bite his tongue, but Jen, as usual, did not: "I’m sorry, are you actually suggesting a 'Moy' might work here? That’s not even a name for a person!"

Douglas exploded into booming laughter. "Bless your silly little heart, Jen! IT goons aren’t people." His dead-eyed smile dropped to make way for an even deader-eyed glare. "But seriously now, I don’t care what kind of plague he’s got. I want him in my office first thing Monday morning, or he’s fired."

Douglas marched out of the office.

Roy wiped his nose on the back of his hand. "What d’you suppose that was about?"

 


	4. Chapter 4

Every time Moss checked his watch – which was approximately every two minutes – his eyebrows inched lower on his forehead. Jen worried that they might permanently merge with his eyelashes if Marie didn’t show up soon.

Jen’s watch was a quarter past when Roy finally deigned to text Jen:

_Outside, but no Marie. Do I still come in?_

“Oh, I am gonna give him a piece of my mind,” Moss muttered, the same way he’d been muttering for the past  ten minutes. “The nerve! Gets my goat, it does...”

“Yes,” Jen agreed, and tapped a message back:

_What do u mean no marie??? Ur already l8 just get in here!!!_

Roy did, in his regular clothes. No wig, no make-up, no heels, definitely no dress. Only impeccably applied nail polish indicated that Marie had ever even existed. Jen tried to imagine Roy comparing different types of nail polish before settling on this shade of red. The thought led to the image of Roy comparing different skirts in front of a mirror, brushing his wig, moisturizing...

And then showing up in jeans and one of his stupid geeky t-shirts?

There was no way of knowing whether Moss would have been a little more open to hearing Roy out if he had been on time, but from the very moment Moss opened his mouth, Jen realised that there would be no negotiations, because what he said was:  
“Why are _you_ here?”

Oh, the poor bastard was in deep shit now.

“I’m sorry, what? Wasn't I—?”

"When a man pulls the sort of con you did,” Moss said, “he has to have the balls to follow through. You don’t have those balls. You don’t deserve to call yourself a woman.” 

“I... I have balls! How dare you!”

“Oh! Yes! How dare I! How dare I stand up for myself, like you’ve been telling me to do for years!”

“Look, I was only trying to help you!”

Jen fancied she could see smoke coming out of Moss’ nostrils.

“Who the flip do you think you are, Roy? No, I’ll tell you. You’re by far the worst person I’ve ever had the grave misfortune of meeting! Getting your kicks from kicking a man who’s already down – because you kicked him until he fell over! You’re like the human equivalent of the dog in Duck Hunt! Your ‘help’ is worth less than nothing! Not to mention my profound lack of judgment in not hating you from the very first moment—"

It went on like that for a while. The longer Moss’ tirade went on, the higher his voice got, the more _flips_ , _damns_ , _ruddies_ and other PG-rated insults flew out as punctuation for his point. Jen honestly didn’t get all of the references, but the point of the whole tirade was fairly clear.

“…Hack government records and _change your name to Jar Jar Binks_ ,” Moss concluded in an angry hiss.

Roy pushed his chair back, helplessly looked between her and Moss, and began to briskly walk towards the toilets.

Moss stood up. “That’s right,” he called after him. ”That’s right! And don’t come back, you complete and utter… Turnip!”

Roy yelled back, “I can’t live in a toilet, Moss, I have to come out sometime!” He turned a corner, and disappeared from sight.

Moss stuck out his tongue just to spite Roy one more time. It was then that he noticed the entire café staring at him, and deflated like someone had let the air out of him. He sheepishly sat back down, put his hands together, and tried to catch his breath.

“That didn’t go as planned,” he said, in a way that made it sound like it might have been a question.

Jen cleared her throat. “No, it didn’t.”

“I’m sorry for causing a scene.”

As if anyone could blame him. “To be fair, he didn’t keep his end of the bargain.”

“I’d better go,” Moss said, zipping up his jacket. “I’ve a fairly tight schedule for today.”

Oh, no. “Oh, yes?”

“Yes. In fact, I’m already late for my Netflix marathon.”

Oh, good. Jen leaned over the table between them conspiratorially. “Moss, you trust me, don’t you?”

Moss blinked. “Jen, you’re a pathological liar.”

“What? No, I’m not.” Not _pathological_ , surely? So what if she did it a lot, to herself and others, on a routine basis, as her number one method of troubleshooting– “Well, maybe a little. But aside from that–”

“You’re also definitely fickle enough to throw others to the dogs if you’ve been compromised.”

Damn it, he was right. Sometimes she could forget that they’d known him for years now. Other times she could hardly remember her life before she’d known them. What had it been like, not being a social piranha? She’d have to call her mum and ask her if she seemed happier now or then.

No, no time to get distracted.

“But you _do_ trust me in my capacity as the department’s Relationship Manager. I mean, you’re here, aren’t you?”

He shrugged. ”You said Marie deserves a chance to explain herself. She’s not here.”

“No, I said _Roy_ deserves... She isn’t...” Real. There really was no reasoning with the two of them when it came to Marie, was there? “Never mind. Moss, I know this is a lot to ask, but you have to give me ten more minutes. Okay?”

“No.”

“Five minutes. Come on, Moss.”

“No.”

“I’ll give you fifty pounds.”

Of Roy’s money, which she would make him give her at a later date, when this was all over. If the idiot was desperate enough to pretend to be gay to get Jen’s help, he’d gladly pay.

Moss gave her a tight-lipped nod.

Jen dashed towards the bathrooms.

She stopped to wonder in front of two doors with different signs. No unisex bathrooms – but also no time to waste. She went for the stick figure wearing a dress and walked inside, taking in the silence. Sure enough, there was a single occupied stall at the very back.

In lieu of any kind of proper seat, Jen sat on the edge of the counter that rang along the wall. She asked the room: “You alright in there?”

There was a shuffling sound, followed by dozen little wads of moist toilet paper raining onto what was visible of the floor under the stall. A quiet addendum followed: “Nope.”

“Want to talk about it?”

There was a snort. “In here?”

“Women’s bathrooms are the confessionals of the 21st century, Marie.”

“That sounds like a load of shite, but I’m way too new to womanhood to even begin to question that.” Jen could hear the sound of tearing toilet paper. “I hope you have altar wine in here somewhere, Reverend, because my boyfriend’s about to dump me, and I could _really_ use a drink.”

She uncrossed and re-crossed her legs. Flicked a bit of lint off of her skirt. “And how do you figure that?”

“Because I’m emotionally blind, deaf, and dumb, and generally terrible to be around.”

“Well, yeah, you absolutely are. Perfect for each other, then, aren’t you?”

Jen waited for a reasonable amount of time, but it didn’t seem like there was going to be a response. Maybe there’d been a shrug. She glanced at her watch and urged: “And he specifically said he was going to break up you?”

“Not– not exactly...” There was a moment’s hesitation, and then a hardened, bitter resolve: “It didn’t need to be said. I went too far, and I mean _way_ past the point of return. It’s game over for me, Jen.”

“ _Wrong_ ,” Jen declared, pointing her index finger at the closed stall door. “Look, Moss is too hurt to talk to you, but he came here to talk to Marie. So _give_ him Marie. She can fix this. It’s not too late.”

“I’m sorry, how is it ‘not too late’? Were you not there for that verbal bloodbath just minutes ago? For Christ’s sake, he compared me to the Earl of Lemongrab.”

Jen dug through her purse for her phone. She set it on the floor, gently pushed it into the stall with her leg, and internally thanked God for Roy’s choice of bathroom. She’d sooner see Roy burn in hell than have her phone touch the floor in a men’s bathroom.

A pregnant silence hung in the air, a million times more overpowering than the resident nose-stinging stench of disinfectant and hair spray.

“You know nothing, Jen Barber,” Roy accused. But the phone was picked off the floor anyway. ”Wait, who’s this? Is she from telly or something?”

Damn his nosiness. She shouldn’t have used that picture as wallpaper. ”Never mind that now! I managed to stall him, but we’re running out of time! Also, you owe me fifty pounds!”

“What?!”

“Get to it, Marie! Woman up!”

“Right,” he muttered.

When Jen was sure she could hear him tapping away in a way that resembled writing, she exited the toilet.

Just in time to sit down and hear Moss’ phone chime. His eyes widened in surprise. When he dug it out and read the received message, for the fleetest of moments, Jen saw something like pain in his expression.

He said: “Correct me if I’m wrong, but am I mistaken in assuming that this isn’t you who is texting me in the toilet about your feelings for me?”

Jen shook her head slowly.

There was a second chime. Moss’ eyes remained glued to his phone.

She shouldn’t ask. It was none of her business, really. She had a long history of sticking her nose where it didn’t belong, and it always ended in disaster. And really, what right had she to inquire– okay, third chime, to hell with it. ”What does it say?”

“She says she’s very sorry that she couldn’t make it. Apparently someone made some scary comments about her looks, and she had to go back home.” Moss seemed pensive, and Jen could only guess at what he was thinking, but probably the same thing she was: shouldn’t have been an arse to Roy about it. “Apparently she sent Roy to cover for her, and just heard from you that he’d completely F-worded up her apology.” He scrolled down with his thumb. “There’s all this stuff about how she misses me, had the best of intentions, never lied about what she felt for me, accepts the consequences of her actions but begs for my forgiveness…” He added mildly: “You know, the usual. I won’t bore you with the details.”

Holy interpersonal drama, Batman! Her curiosity could barely wait till she got her phone back from Marie. Roy. Whomever. God, she’d caught their nonsense like it was some sort of infectious disease, and not for the first time. One of these days she’d probably complete her slow transition to nerdhood and not even realise what she’d become.

She said, “Well, what do you think?”

Moss was tapping a text of his own. “Whuh?”

“I said, what do you think?”

He pursed his lips. “Well, she seems genuinely sorry, so in terms of the honesty that has been lacking–”

There were more chimes. Something astounding happened: Moss’ previously grim face broke into a bashful smile. He resumed tapping one more time with outright enthusiasm before sliding his phone into his jacket pocket. He got up and stuffed his hands in his pockets like he was about to leave.

“What?” Jen pleaded. She couldn’t help but feel a little hopeful. “What is it?”

“I’ve had to adjust my schedule to make room for a social visit.”

Crisis averted! Status quo restored! Oh, she was too good for these two nutjobs. Maybe even too good for the entirety of Reynholm Industries. She clapped her hands together in delight. “Oh, that’s wonderful, Moss! I’m so glad to hear that! I’ll see you at work on Monday, then?”

Roy chose that moment to exit the bathroom. He locked eyes with Jen.

Moss followed her gaze, saw what she was looking at, and instantly turned up his nose and looked away.

Jen wildly pointed and gestured at Roy in demand for answers. Roy shrugged, mouthed back something that looked a lot like _TRY USING WORDS_ , and slinked out of the café.

Moss rubbed at his chin thoughtfully, as if that didn’t just happen. “I suppose I could work out of the server room. That way, I wouldn’t have to interact with Roy.”

“Talk with Roy. You mean _talk_ to Roy. Wait, didn’t you two just make up?”

“Duh! I forgave _Marie_ ,” he said, doing that thing where he was being condescending about concepts that any reasonable person would have cut some slack on. “That doesn’t mean _Roy’s_ off my blacklist.”

“It should, though,” Jen insisted. “Because they’re the same person. You realise that, right? You know that you’ve already forgiven _him_ , because you’ve forgiven _her_?”

Moss chuckled at her. “Oh, Jen…”

He walked out as well.


End file.
